


After Gladden Fields

by KayleeArafinwiel



Series: Tales of the Elmoi [4]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeArafinwiel/pseuds/KayleeArafinwiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thranduil failed in bringing aid to Isildur and his sons, his sense of duty to those he had called brothers during the War of the Last Alliance bound up his life - and his youngest son's - with that of Isildur's line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Isildurchil

A gentle breeze brushed the hilltop, combing the ruins of a castle, which had crumbled mere moments ago. Its maker stood over it, clearly holding back the cry of frustration he wanted to release. All the hard work he had poured into his creation had come to naught in the end. Tears shimmered in his clear grey eyes, and he blinked them back furiously. His tutor, Lord Erestor, would be displeased; he had clearly not paid enough attention to the manner of building the fortification.

"What is wrong, tithen-pen muin nin?" Thranduil knelt beside the boy, running pale fingers through his dark hair. "What happened here?"  
"I worked so hard," came the muffled reply. "I worked so hard, and it's all gone..." And he had not worked hard enough, he told himself.

  
Thranduil nodded sympathetically, picking up the intricately carved wooden shapes which interlocked to form towers and walls. "Will you let me help you?"

  
"My tutor might be angry, sire..." The young Prince looked at the visiting King uncertainly.

  
"Not in the least," Thranduil said firmly. "In fact, I happen to know he likes it when you ask for help. Is it not so, pen-neth?"

 "Erestor likes it," the youth agreed reluctantly, "as long as I don't ask everybody too many questions." Thranduil nodded sympathetically. "Mhmm, well, you have not asked me 'too many questions', young Isildurchil. You will do well."

Valandil pressed close to Thranduil's side, as king and prince fortified the castle together. When they were done, it was a splendid structure, nearly as tall as Valandil himself, and the youth grinned at Thranduil. "I am glad Uncle Elrond let you come for a visit, aran-nin." Thranduil tried not to show his discomfort with the title, but he patted Valandil's shoulder and smiled. "I am glad I could visit with you, too, pen-neth."

 

Prince they might call him, Thranduil thought, but not for much longer. No...soon he would have to actually enter the house of Elrond, rather than lingering outside, and deliver the news to the Master of Imladris that the boy was no longer merely the heir.

 

More than a castle of blocks had been ruined; Thranduil's error was not so easily mended.

 

_He had failed._


	2. Iluvatar's Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In T.A. 249, Thranduil is called to the deathbed of one he has loved as a younger brother.

"He wanted to see you, Uncle." The young Dunadan offered the elven King a respectful bow, as the one he had thought of as his grandfather's brother gifted him with a sad smile.

 

"I thank you, Arantar," Thranduil murmured. He did not say another word, but walked into the royal bedchamber, where his old friend... _not old_ , he thought, not by far...lay dying. Dying. It was not a word that sat well on the King's mind. It was near an age ago...but seemed only yesterday...that he had ridden to Imladris, with news of Isildur's untimely death, and that of his sons. Lost. _Lost..._ and now...

 

"Thrani." The pet-name he'd allowed the Man to use as a child rolled easily off Valandil's tongue, and Thranduil dropped his gaze to Valandil's, seating himself on the edge of the King's bed, taking his hand.

 

"Yes, _gwador-laes."_ Thranduil could still feel Valandil's grip, strong in his hand. "Why do you do this?" Thranduil asked. "Why now? You are yet young..."

 

"I have seen two hundred and sixty winters, Thrani." Valandil shook his head. "I am ready."

 

"Ready...for what?" Thranduil felt tears prick his eyes. "What now?" He felt, rather than saw, Eldacar and young Arantar, the latter barely fifty-six, come to flank him.

 

"For this. Eldacar, ion-nin," Valandil said, "to you I leave the Elendilmir, and the Sceptre of Annuminas, and to your heirs after you. Bear them well."

 

"I will, Adar," Eldacar replied softly. At Valandil's request, Thranduil lifted the Star of Elendil from the cushion it lay on, and Eldacar knelt, accepting it on his brow as Valandil gave the silver rod into his keeping.

 

"These are my legacy, _gwador nin,_ " Valandil said softly, "and my gift to you, ere I accept the Gift ordained to my race. I would not have you know only grief, Thranduil. You have ever been family. Continue to be so."

 

"I promise, _gwador laes._ I promise." He swallowed hard.

 

"I love you all, very much. But my parents and other brothers are waiting, Thrani," he told Thranduil, and Thranduil nodded silently.

 

"I will not keep you from them, Valandil. I...I release thee."

 

"I, too, Ada," Eldacar said softly.

 

"I, too, Daerada."

 

"Thank you, my brother. Thank you, my children," Valandil said quietly. "Now I would sleep." Thranduil quietly closed the heavy draperies, dimming the light in the bedchamber as Valandil's eyes closed. Valandil's chest rose and fell...and did not rise again.

 

Thranduil bowed his head, weeping silently, and Eldacar embraced him as a brother. "You have lost a brother, aran-nin, but so long as one of my line remains alive, you shall never lose your family," Eldacar whispered.

 

"Thank you," Thranduil said gratefully, drawing Arantar in with them, as the three, two Kings and the young Prince, mourned together. Soon enough there would be time to settle matters of state. For now, they needed each other, so they could begin to heal. Thranduil was grateful for the gift of love and support his mortal brother's heirs offered, and would give them the same in return.


	3. Legolas and the Chieftains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble-ish bits showing Legolas' relationship with the Chieftains of the Dunedain, from Aragorn I to Arahad I (so far). Will likely be expanded on into separate chapters eventually.

November 1 – Fruit of the Vine? (thanks to Aearwen) In T.A. 2327, the Chieftain of the Dunedain has a little talk with 18-year-old Legolas Thranduilion.

Legolas inspected the crystal goblet his host passed to him. Blood-red liquid swirled in its depths, and his eyes lit up. Would he now be permitted to taste the fruit of the vine his _adar_ had forbidden him? Too young, Thranduil decreed, much to the young elfling’s dismay.

“Sip it slowly,” Aragorn advised, and Legolas did, eyes widening with pleasure as the tart, sweet liquid ran down his throat. But the intoxicating rush he had expected to follow never came.

“Is this wine?” he asked the Chieftain, and Aragorn Aravirion’s laugh rang out.

“For you, elfling? Nay, ‘tis bogberry juice.”

 

November 2 – Wild Hunt. At the end of the Eruhantale festival, Thranduil comes to collect Legolas. Unfortunately, tragedy strikes.

Aragorn rode out with twelve men to hunt the wolves that plagued the woods. Six returned alive, each Man carrying the body of a fallen comrade. Thranduil, come too late, carried the last Man in his arms.

“The Wild Hunt is ended!” Thranduil called. “Let the Chieftain come forth.” Silence reigned for an eternal moment, and slowly, Araglas stepped out of the throng. His eyes were drawn to the wrapped bundle in Thranduil’s arms, and he _knew._

“Thank you, aran-nin, for returning my father. Will you take your son?”

“He will be safer at home.”

“ _No,_ Ada! Araglas needs me!”

 

November 3 – Loyalty. After the events of “Wild Hunt,” Legolas makes his choice.

“Araglas needs me!”

Legolas stood still, watching his father’s expression change from worry to something unreadable. The elfling wrapped his arms around the new-made Chieftain, and Araglas stroked Legolas’ hair absently, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears.

“I’ll stay with you, Araglas. I’m your friend. You promised when your…when the…” Legolas stumbled over what he wanted to say, averting his eyes from the body that now lay on a bier. “I’m your friend, Araglas. Can’t I be your page, too? Ada wanted me to serve at court.” Legolas’ lip trembled. He could not fail. “Please?”

Araglas nodded slowly. Thranduil sighed.

 

November 4 – Paging

The duties of a page were simple, Legolas found. Fetching and carrying for Araglas was no more onerous than for Aragorn. Araglas often sent Legolas to Mistress Baindes, the cook, who took pleasure in feeding him. However, once the mourning period for Aragorn was over, Araglas set regular lessons for Legolas with Masters Tarandir and Cuvondil. The schoolmaster and weaponsmaster were firm but fair, and accepted only Legolas’ best.

Legolas dwelt at Tharbad fourteen cyrnanor, but family visits were frequent. Upon turning thirty-two, Legolas became Araglas’ squire. Shortly after, Thranduil collected him.

“Farewell, my lord.”

“Farewell for now, my squire.”

 

November 5 – Arahad

Legolas was fifty-six when he returned to Tharbad with Lieutenant Fêrion and an honour guard. Fêrion, the Crown Prince, acted as Thranduil’s representative on this visit, and Legolas was glad to have his brother along. They reached Tharbad just as Anor was rising, and were met by Lady Eruanna, the Chieftain’s mother. She greeted Legolas with a kiss, and led the Princes to the Houses of Healing. Lady Aerwing lay in her bed, her babe clutched to her breast.

 

“I have given my lord a son.” She gave Legolas and Fêrion a tired smile.

 

Araglas smiled proudly beside her.

 

“Arahad.”

 

 

November 6 – Lessons (TA 2372)

 

“Arahad, you must not slouch so,” Legolas cautioned the boy. The seven-year-old straightened, squaring his shoulders and standing at attention.

 

“Is this better, Master?”

 

Legolas was taken aback by the question, and blinked in surprise. _Master?_ His confusion cleared a moment later. Ah, but of course…he was teaching the boy the use of his bow and sword, after all. Still, there was something else there, something almost… _worshipful._ Legolas turned to Araglas, a question in his eyes, and the Chieftain grinned unrepentantly.

 

“He respects you, my squire,” Araglas remarked after the lesson, when his son had scampered off. “As he should.”

 

 

 

November 7 – (TA 2402) Wedding Invitation

 

 

“What news, Legolas?” Princess Dúlinniel leaned over her brother’s shoulder, and he covered the letter with his hand.

 

“ _Linni._ I will tell you when I am ready, and not before.” She turned away with a _hmph,_ tossing her dark hair.

 

But the letter was from Arahad, now thirty-seven, and Legolas wanted it to himself.

_Master Legolas,_

 

_I find my heart stolen at last. Arienna is her name. She is gloriously beautiful, shining like Arien herself._

Arahad intended to wed her. Legolas did not care if he had to steal away from home to be there.

 

His mortal brother had called.

 

 

November 8 – After the Wedding Feast

 

“She _does_ shine like Arien.” Legolas found himself awestruck, and a blush crept into his cheeks. Arienna’s hair was auburn, and her eyes were as blue as the heavens. No _wonder_ Arahad was so attracted to her – rosy-cheeked and merry, she was a wild rose blooming amongst flowers far less fair. “Arienna is not one of the Dunedain, is she?” he asked.

 

Arahad shrugged. “Her grandmother came from the South. ‘Tis said her ancestors were of Elvenkind.” Legolas could believe it. Noldor, perhaps.

 

Legolas bowed to Arahad’s bride.

 

“Will you honour me with a dance?”

 

“The honour would be mine.”

 

 

November 9 – Return to Tharbad

 

It was nearing Yule when Legolas heard of Aragost’s birth. He had purposely avoided Tharbad these past twenty-nine cyrnanor, afraid that Arienna’s beauty would once again dazzle him. This Yule, however, Chieftain Araglas had commanded his presence.

 

“You called me, my lord. I come. What does the king command?”

 

Araglas raised an eyebrow. A faint blush stained Legolas’ cheeks.

 

“I would have you bestow your blessing on Aragost, Prince Legolas.”

 

Arahad’s daughter Merilwen, blushing, looked on as Legolas cradled the babe tenderly.

 

“May the Belain bless you all your days, Child of Men.”  

 

Aragost’s smile wrapped itself around Legolas’ heart.

 

November 10 – Joy Extinguished (2455)

 

_Master Legolas._

_Come quickly. Come to Tharbad. I have need of you._

That was all Arahad needed to write, and Legolas was on his way. When he finally reached Tharbad, Legolas found it somber and soulless, a hush hanging over the village.

 

“What has happened?” he asked, and twenty-four year old Aragost pressed himself against Legolas’ side. The youth, newly returned from his own fosterage, wept into Legolas’ tunic.

 

Arahad walked up to meet them, and the Ring of Barahir gleamed on his finger.

 

“Father is dead.”

 

_Araglas! O Araglas, my brother, my Master…_

 

Legolas wept with his Mortal brothers.


End file.
